Angels do cry – an excerpt from “Broken Dream”

Angry, half-sobbing, half-raging, I turned away from their cruelty and simply ran. Wind whizzed past, stinging my face while I flagellated myself with an internal litany of self-hate. Halfway through my blind lope, it happened.

I felt a tearing pain, of flesh being ripped apart, on my back. The pain made me dizzy and I gasped, out of shock more than of agony. Then, the agony came like a physical electrical shock and I shrieked as two things burst forth, with a spray of red blood (my blood) and the crunch of tendons and bones. I found myself on the ground, my uniform torn, a pool of blood slowly being diluted by the drizzle. There was a lingering ache on my back as if I had pulled a muscle. There was also a buzz of excited whispers and muttered words.


I glanced at my sides, seeing the feathered wings, still pink with blood and other fluids. The rainwater was gently cleaning the coppery redness away and I knew that the color of the wings was going to be white. Swan-white.

Gingerly, slowly, I stood up and I watched my mockers back away, fearful and awed by my terrifying transformation. Almost instinctively, I spread my wings and I felt them unfold, their strength pulling at new muscles and bones, like the tug of wind on sails. Suddenly, there was a ray of sunlight, the first I had ever seen – razor-sharp and razor-bright, lancing everyone on the stop. It bathed me with radiance.





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